


Mayonnaise

by goblin



Category: SMAP
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblin/pseuds/goblin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night beginning in alcohol and ending in mayonnaise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mayonnaise

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn’t know, Shingo likes mayonnaise so much he has been known to drink it directly from the bottle. And if Tsuyoshi’s hotel room seems rather big, that’s because SMAP members get really good hotel rooms.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is pure fiction extrapolated from Japanese television and a foolish gaijin’s brain, and is in no way intended to represent, misrepresent or indeed say anything in particular about the real members of SMAP. May contain traces of nuts.

It had been one of the rare occasions when several of the SMAP members had gone out drinking together; after the high of the concert they were exhausted, but also in a partying mood. Kimura had said his goodbyes after a bare half hour of tearing up the dance floor, cowboy hat jammed on his head and hips swirling like half-melted butter. Nakai had gone to some other nightspot and Goro had apparently chosen a quiet night in. So now it was just Shingo and Tsuyoshi, chasing one beer with another and making each other laugh with deliberately stupid dance moves. A few hours of that turned into stumbling and collapse, and then Shingo was saying, “Let’s drink some more in your room…”

* * *

Tsuyoshi woke up with a sudden surge of nausea and stumbled out of his hotel bedroom and into the lounge, past Shingo slumped on the couch, and into the bathroom where he knelt at the toilet and stared resentfully at it, waiting for his stomach to heave out its contents. More waiting, but no results – how irritating, thought Tsuyoshi, for the nausea to be strong enough to drag him from his really very comfortable bed and all the way to the toilet, which was not the least bit interesting to look at.

He dragged himself to his feet, veered over to the bathroom mirror and peered at his reflection. He certainly looked terrible, he thought – black hair half sticking up like ill-cut grass and the other half squashed flat to his scalp; face all angles and pale as bone. But despite his woeful appearance, it seemed he wasn’t going to throw up after all.

Lurching back into the lounge room, Tsuyoshi caught sight of Shingo again and stopped. His blond hair rendered a halo by the backlight of a corner lamp, Shingo’s comfortingly solid form sprawled across the couch, his mouth open slightly, breathing even. “Huh,” thought Tsuyoshi. “Shingo.” He then walked to the small fridge on the other side of the room and pulled the door open, intending to retrieve the Pocari Sweat he’d put there the previous afternoon.

“Huh,” thought Tsuyoshi. “Mayonnaise.” Because that is all there was. Bottle after plastic bottle of mayonnaise, each with a cheery red lid, each with a brightly smiling Kewpie standing proudly on the label. Tsuyoshi reached in and took one out to check if there was anything else behind, but no – just more mayonnaise. Feeling uneasy for having ruined the Warhol-esque symmetry, Tsuyoshi returned the bottle to its place. He looked back behind himself to the rumpled figure on the couch, and thought, “Shingo. Mayonnaise. Huh.” Then the puzzlement became all too much for him and he closed the fridge and sat down on the couch next to Shingo, who stirred and blinked his eyes.  
“Tsuyopon,” he said with a beatific smile.  
Tsuyoshi’s brow furrowed. “Shingo,” he said, “remember all the little bottles of alcohol in the fridge?”  
Shingo nodded, still smiling.  
“Did we drink those? Did you drink those, after I passed out?”  
Shingo shook his head. “They’re in my room.”  
Tsuyoshi considered this for a few moments. “How come?”  
“Bought mayonnaise for my room but don’t want it anymore.”  
“Why’d you buy it then? Baka.”  
“Not the mayonnaise! The room.” Shingo laid his arms contentedly about Tsuyoshi’s slight shoulders, wriggling to change his position and curling up against him like an enormous cat getting ready to sleep. “Had to take my mayonnaise here. Moving in.” Shingo closed his eyes, nestling his head under Tsuyoshi’s chin.  
Tsuyoshi was surprised to find that he was stroking Shingo’s lion-gold hair, though it seemed a very natural gesture now he was doing it. Then he belatedly asked, “What about my Pocari Sweat?” But Shingo’s breathing had already begun to slow, and his weight and warmth against Tsuyoshi were so relaxing that Tsuyoshi at last gave up the idea of trying to make sense of this situation and let himself slip back into blessed sleep.


End file.
